pets

Let Sleeping Cats Lie – out now

News

It’s UK publication day for ‘Let Sleeping Cats Lie’, my collection of poems about pets.

I wrote the for book children, aged between 7 and 95, and it’s available through all the usual bookshop places. You can find some of the online retailers here: https://linktr.ee/brianbilston

There are a few signed copies knocking about, too. Here’s a small list of some of the independent bookshops who have signed copies: https://linktr.ee/letsleepingcatslie

Anyway, that’s about all I have to say on the matter so I shall finish writing this post now.

Let Sleeping Cats Lie

Assorted Poems

Some news! I have a new book of poems for children coming out in a couple of months – Let Sleeping Cats Lie.


It’s a collection of poems about pets (dogs, cats, goldfish, chinchilla, guinea pigs, snakes, budgies, rabbits, blue whales etc). I say it’s for children but it’s also suitable for grandchildren and, who knows, some grown-ups might enjoy it, too; I don’t like to be too prescriptive.


It publishes on 26th September in the UK. If you fancied pre-ordering a copy, you can do so through your local bookshop or visiting this page with links to some online booksellers:
https://www.panmacmillan.com/authors/brian-bilston/let-sleeping-cats-lie-pet-poems/9781035050550

Here’s a poem from the collection:

Wilf the Labracadabrador

Wilf the Labracadabrador
(who in dog years is seventy-six)

is a magician, a conjurer
and a hypnotist.

He saws teddies in half.
He pulls rabbits from hats.

He makes all his food vanish,
just like that.

Renowned for his showdogship
and smooth sleight of paw,

Wilf’s about to em-bark
on a nationwide tour.

Last week, I showed him
how to juggle with sticks.

Whoever said you can’t teach
an old dog new tricks?

Cat under Lockdown

Assorted Poems, Some poems

My cat has been adapting to the lockdown
rather well, it must be said.

She leaves the sofa for very limited purposes,
exercising once a day in the flowerbeds,

never failing to wash her paws
for at least two hours upon her return.

She no longer meets friends or relatives
who do not live in her home,

but contents herself in catching up with them
on Skype or Zoom. Should other cats

intrude on her territory, she’s always careful
to maintain her social hiss stance,

and she deplores the action of her neighbour
who has been stockpiling mice for weeks.

She bears it all with great fortitude
although she knows everything is changed,

and, when the ambulances go by,
they will wake her and she will look at me

as if to say, don’t worry, I’m here,
I have no plans to go anywhere.

Pet Peeve

Assorted Poems, Some poems

Keeping
a chameleon
for a pet

is something
that I now
regret.

At first,
as far as
I could tell,

he seemed
to blend in
very well,

but he’s
changed a lot
in many ways

I’ve not
seen him now
for fourteen days.

My Cat: A History

Assorted Poems, Some poems

My cat, this ooze of fur and claws
across my lap, is currently experiencing
the eighth of her nine lives.

In 1919, while preparations
for a League of Nations
were composed, she dozed.

In 1789, Louis XVI appraised
the mob and realised his days
were numbered. My cat slumbered.

Whilst Thomas More, in 1534,
refused the Oath and paid the price,
she dreamt of catching mice.

Two hundred years before,
when across the land
the Black Death swept, she slept.

Further back, as Ptolemy
did some geometry and the world
got mapped, she napped.

When the citizens of Rome
showed their ire, Nero fiddled.
She curled up, enjoyed the fire.

Way back, in Ancient Egypt, my cat
was revered, at the top of the heap.
Didn’t really notice. She was mainly asleep.